


X TA C

by gattan_cae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Casual Sex, Clubbing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Groping, Intoxication, Lance is just a friend who is very bad at taking care of his friends at parties, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Public Sex, Shiro can be read as either trans or cis it is up to you, This is pretty gross like it's a borderline rape situation, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, no klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gattan_cae/pseuds/gattan_cae
Summary: Lance takes Keith to the club and things get very out of control very quickly when Keith encounters a guy named Shiro with a pocket full of molly.





	X TA C

**Author's Note:**

> Literally don't even look at me Satan himself possessed me and my hands wrote this of their own accord. It should also go without saying that I don't condone this in real life but with antis running around you have to state the obvious ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Whatever the hell sort of club Lance had brought Keith to, it was one _hell_ of a place to get smashed.  Keith’d lost track of his exact number of drinks at least four songs ago, but it really didn’t matter when the music was so loud and the beats so heavy and the lights so frenetic that Keith swears he could see the music itself flashing like neon rivers between the sweaty bodies of the dancers.  A new song comes on, blasting the sea of people and bringing with it a scream that assaults Keith’s eardrums—it’s a crowd-pleaser.  Everyone around him begins thrashing and grinding, hands in the air and on hips.  The lights flicker staccato and off-beat; Keith’s head swims like he’s floating in the ocean.  He bounces around with everyone else, more than happy to be batted around by the waves of motion rippling through the bodies like a buoy.  He doesn’t know what his own body is doing, but whatever it is, it feels great.  There’s a woman pressed up against his back, her breasts soft and squishy, her hands snaking down over Keith’s hips and thighs.

He pushes his butt back against her, tossing his head back onto her shoulder.  She bites his neck; Keith’s body wriggles away from her like an eel, slipping deeper into the mess of dancers for no real reason other than the music told him to.  She’d felt good, but there was something _better_ here somewhere.  Sweat is beading on his face, dripping down the dip of his chest, collecting in his palms.  It’s sweltering fucking hot in here.

Lance disappeared what feels like days ago.  At this point, Keith can’t bring himself to care.  Something new starts playing.  It’s so hard and fast and aggressive it practically bends Keith over and fucks him right on the dancefloor and his limbs know how to respond.  His hands throw themselves into the air, hips gyrate, head falls back, knees tremble.  They lyrics flow out of his mouth; he’s shouting, but it’s too hot to hear anything.  Keith’s eyes snap open and he drops down low when the song tells him to.  A wolf whistle splits the crowd and pulls Keith’s dizzy head around.

 _Hello, tonight’s ride._   Tall, buff, dark-haired, and barely out of college.  That tank top covers _nothing,_ especially not his pierced nipples or the dragon tattoo circling his right pec.  Keith doesn’t need to know anything more.  He dances—stumbles—over to Mr. Hot Tits and flips his hair out of his face.  His hands land on some shoulders wider than a truck and somehow Keith coordinates his alcohol-trashed brain enough to look at the guy’s face.  That’s a huge mistake, because he’s made of a lantern jaw to shame Superman, cheekbones too high to be real, the surliest black brows ever seen outside a fashion magazine, and a shaggy haircut off a European male model.  Hot, _hot, **hot.**_ Keith maybe says that out loud, but that’s literally the last thing that matters right now.  Getting this guy’s thigh between his legs is the first.

Speaking of _thighs,_ this guy’s got the pair that God based all thighs off of.  _Oh yeah._   Keith needs that ten minutes ago.  His hands take a walk down the guy’s _carved_ back and land on asscheeks too round to be anything but worthy pillows for Keith to suffocate between.  He lunges upwards without any coordination and somehow bites the guy’s plush lips.  Huge, hot, heavy hands lock around Keith’s waist, sending SOS bolts of electricity up and down his body.  He shivers in the grip and it moves downwards, groping his ass through his Daisy Dukes; a couple of adventurous thumbs push up underneath the frayed denim and _oh holy shit okay_ that’s a tongue in Keith’s mouth.  Nothing about this is neat or pretty but it’s _hot_ and Keith can tell that _this_ is the guy who will fuck his brains out tonight, the right way, the way he wants.  He wiggles until he manages to turn around unsteadily in the guy’s grip and push his ass back against the guy’s dick.  The dude is packing something _big_ and he’s already hard; Keith can clearly feel him through two layers of denim against the cleft of his ass. 

The guy’s hands clamp down on Keith’s hips and he gives a couple of mock thrusts that nearly knock Keith off his feet.  His sense of balance was destroyed by the third drink; he leans helplessly into the guy’s death grip and lets his spinning head drop, his hips still twitching from side to side with the music.  The seam of his shorts splits his pussy lips and rubs against his cock which is _so fucking hard;_ slick is everywhere, all over his thighs and asscrack.  Keith is about four seconds away from reaching into this guy’s pants and stuffing his cock inside him if he doesn’t make the first move.  Solid heat presses itself into Keith’s back and teeth fasten around Keith’s ear; his throat cries out without him telling it to.  The guy’s voice rumbles through Keith’s brain like a F350 diesel revving; Keith’s pussy clenches and who the fuck even knows what the guy said, but it might’ve been something like “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Keef!” Keith shouts drunkenly, craning his head backwards, laughing at his own mispronunciation.  _“Keith!”_

“Shiro!” the guy bellows into Keith’s ear, or at least, that’s the closest to what Keith thinks he hears through the pounding music and screaming and sex haze clogging his every sense.  Keith didn’t particularly want to know the guy’s name, but that shouldn’t change the fact that Keith is about to be on the receiving end of one (1) huge cock attached to the hottest guy (69/10) in this fucking place.  Shiro thrusts against Keith’s ass again and that’s it, he’s officially taking too long.  Keith unzips his shorts and shoves them down this thighs, not giving a single fuck that they’re in the middle of the dancefloor.  He’s pretty sure there’s at least four other people getting publicly nailed within twenty feet of him.

Shiro’s shouting something in Keith’s ear again.  In between the blasts of synth, Keith catches “something to make you feel good” and it had _better_ be some good dick.  A finger slides down between Keith’s soaking wet pussy lips, bumps the underside of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his lower half.  The finger slides back up, catching on the rim of his entrance, but keeps going, slicking up Keith’s ass with his own fluids.  Anal?  Not what Keith was expecting but he’s so fucking horny and disgustingly wet that literally anything would work right now.

The thing that goes up Keith’s ass is _most definitely_ not a finger.  It’s thin and hard and cold and it still somehow feels so fucking teasingly good.  Keith pushes his hips backwards to get it in deeper so that maybe it’d stretch him, do something more than just barely tease his sensitive, twitching asshole.  If Shiro would just stop being such a _coy dickhole and fuck him already,_ Keith wouldn’t have to awkwardly fuck himself on whatever little tease Shiro’s stuck up his butt.  Cold fluid hits Keith’s insides, making him gasp, and then it’s gone.  Shiro’s finger is back on Keith’s hole, toying with it, making him whole-body shudder with the feeling of skin catching on his entrance.

Raw heat is blooming in Keith’s gut, lighting up every nerve like a live wire.  The music cranks up the volume twelve times, the lights flashing brighter, leaving ghosts shivering on Keith’s retinas when it goes dark in between beats.  The purest form of pleasure known to man—it feels so fucking _incredible,_ incredible is such a poor word for it—is pulsing through Keith’s entire being just from Shiro’s hand on his hip.  The fingers playing with his pussy and ass feel so _god damn good,_ better than they have any right to be, that Keith is drooling with bliss.  _And he hasn’t even gotten that cock yet.  Holy shit._

The entire club is spinning like crazy, a vortex funneling every single sensation in the Universe straight into Keith’s vibrating body.  It’s pure ecstasy.  Then Keith wins the lottery, has Christmas, and his birthday all at the same second:  Shiro buries his thick-ass cock in Keith’s sopping, needy pussy in one go.  Keith screams, his hands flying up to fist in his own hair, his head falling back against Shiro’s shoulder.  Nothing has _ever_ felt this good in the history of the Universe.

 _“Oh my god!”_ Keith screams to the heavens which are blooming inside him, _“oh my fucking god!”_ Everything is good, so good, amazing, feels _so good._ Shiro bounces him on his cock and Keith flops helplessly, surrendering  to the fact that God herself must be possessing his body right now.  He’s reeling, can’t move; it feels too good.  Keith’s _soul_ is on _fire._

The music forms ribbons of yellow-orange-purple light in front of Keith’s eyes.  Entranced, he sobs with how overwhelmingly _amazingly so-fucking-good_ Shiro’s dick feels inside him.  It’s like he was _made_ to take it, like it was made for him.  He can feel his own heart thundering like a stampede of horses in his chest and also Shiro’s heartbeat in every inch of skin touching him.  He can feel Shiro’s very spirit leaching into his body where it’s pressed fully up against Keith’s sweaty back, through his soaked crop tee.

A litany of cries escape Keith’s slack mouth; most of them “oh my god” over and over again because despite its thunderous inadequacy to describe how he’s feeling, it’s the best he’s got.  And then just when Keith thought it couldn’t get any better, Shiro’s hand moves.  The motion of skin on skin ripples and swirls across the surface of his body like glowing algae on a pond, pulsing luminescent pleasure flooding his synapses.  But that’s child’s play compared to the absolute ecstasy that hits Keith like a freight train when Shiro’s fingers bracket his hard and hot little cock, dipping into and coating it with his own slick.  Keith screams his throat raw with _“yes, yes, oh my god, holy shit, oh my god, yes, fuck!  Fuck!  Yes!  Fuck me!”_

Keith’s poor little body can’t handle the star that goes supernova inside him when Shiro’s other thumb pushes into his still-slick ass.  He comes on the spot, screaming so loud his voice gives out and his knees shake, the pleasure so intense he whites out.

Floating on god’s own euphoria, Keith comes round to Shiro fucking his pussy like it’s a cocksleeve and he’s in a competition to beat off in under 30 seconds.  All Keith can do is moan brokenly and lean into the hand on his shoulder, the only thing keeping him sort-of upright through the mind-numbing barrage of pleasure.  Then Shiro stills suddenly, his breath coming hot and fast on the oversensitive skin of Keith’s neck.  Keith wants to drown in the feeling of each humid puff of air, the way it stirs the vellus hairs on his nape, it just feels _awesome._

Then Shiro pulls out of Keith’s body entirely, leaving him empty and gaping, but even that feels good.  It all feels good.  It’s the touch equivalent of poetry when Shiro pulls up Keith’s shorts and reaches around him to zip them, Keith leaning back bonelessly into Shiro’s broad, sweaty, firm chest which he _knows_ should be uncomfortable but damn if it doesn’t feel like a fucking Tempurpedic.  He lets those same arms lead him away to somewhere cooler, the sudden change in temperature making Keith shiver with delight.

A glass of water materializes in Keith’s hands and he downs it eagerly, almost moaning because that is the _best-tasting_ water he’s ever had the honor of drinking in his entire life.  The glass refills itself and Keith sucks that down too.  The water forms a cool, sloshing ball in his stomach which spreads its wonderful, tingling chill from the center of his body outwards.  It becomes a game with Keith seeing how many times the glass will refill itself and he drinks until his stomach almost hurts, but nothing could truly hurt with how euphoric he feels right now.  He realizes very belatedly that he’s standing at the bar and there’s a pitcher in front of him and Shiro’s arms are still wrapped around him.  Shiro’s been refilling his glass.

“You’re gonna want to go home and sleep that off,” Shiro’s diesel-rumble voice says.  Keith hums amicably in response, then Shiro pulls away.  Sharp, cold alarm spears through Keith’s happy haze.

“No, don’t go!” he cries, turning and lunging with all the grace of a newborn foal after Shiro.  “I love you, don’t leave me alone.”  Keith looks up into Shiro’s face hopefully.  Shiro looks sort of torn.

“That’s the ecstasy,” he says over the music.  “Go home and sleep.  Your dreams will be great.”

Dreams?  This all feels like a dream.  Keith’s eyes wander to the flashing, surging surroundings of the club.  How can he even be sure this is all real?  “I feel _incredible,_ Shiro.”  Keith just needs Shiro to know absolutely how good he feels right now.  Incredible isn’t the right word, but he’s pretty sure humans haven’t invented the right word for this feeling.  But ecstasy is pretty close.  “I’m dreaming right now.”

Shiro laughs at that.  “You must’ve been pretty drunk when I hit you up, huh?”

Keith can’t quite process those words, so he nods enthusiastically because that feels like the right thing to do.  “I want this to be real.”

“It’s real, I promise,” Shiro says, but that’s not enough.  Keith needs _proof._

“I need proof!” he insists, “that you’re an angel and this is real.”

“Oh boy.”  Shiro bites his lip.  “Okay.  Here’s my number, you can text me in the morning and I promise I’ll still be real then and this all definitely happened.”

Keith beams, dopamine flooding his brain at the prospect of this all being real.  The Sharpie is cold on Keith’s inner forearm, but it’s a good, refreshing, ticklish sort of cold.  The numbers are dancing, wiggling in time with the beat of the music on Keith’s skin.  He giggles at them and by the time he looks up, Shiro is gone, so he just leans back against the bar and watches the spectacle of humans having an amazing time in front of him.  It all unfolds like a miracle of the heavens; a bright, pulsating, euphoric explosion of touch and pleasure and humanity in the microcosm of the club.

 

Lance finds Keith in this state of blissed-out twenty minutes later.  “Oh my god, Keith, where did you go?” he demands.  “I left you alone for an hour and you _disappeared_ and _what is wrong with you?”_

Keith bursts out laughing.  “I fucked a super hot guy.  Everything feels so good!”

“Did he have a magic dick or something, because this is not you.”  Lance frowns and Keith shakes his head, still smiling way too widely.

“He—” a fit of giggles interrupts Keith— “he put something up my butt and now everything is _ecstasy.”_ Keith doubles over with near-hysterical laughter, like this is somehow the funniest thing in the world.  Lance has had too many drinks to properly deal with this current situation, but it’s forcing him to sober up quickly.

“You.  Went and got _drunk,_ then let a _complete stranger booty-bump you_ with _ecstasy._ And _fuck you_ in the _middle_ of the club,” Lance says slowly.  Keith gives him two thumbs up and Lance feels his eternal soul depart his body.

“I got his number.  His name is Shiro and he’s an angel and he told me this is real,” Keith crows, flashing the ten-digit phone number scrawled on his arm.

“Oh my god end me what am I going to tell Pidge,” Lance mumbles into his hands as he scrubs them down his face.  “She’s gonna kill me.”

“I need to sleep,” Keith announces suddenly, as if it’s a matter of national security.

“Thank god, I thought you were gonna say throw up,” Lance mutters under his breath.  He puts a hand on Keith’s bicep, guiding his absolutely trashed friend to the door.  Just before they exit the bar/dancefloor area, Keith turns and scans the crowd urgently.  Lance follows his gaze and lands on a guy in a tank top and dark jeans at the edge of the dancing mass who is, admittedly, pretty hot.  Keith waves enthusiastically to him and the guy returns the gesture.  Then he blows a big, sloppy kiss to him and Lance nearly throws him bodily through the door.

“Bed!  You’re going to sleep and I’m never taking you out again!” he cries, and Keith just laughs gleefully.


End file.
